


The Best Deal

by trillingstar



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Conversations, Explicit Language, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Injury Recovery, M/M, Oz Magi, Painkillers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9469130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: Peter and Miguel are two ships passing in the night aka the infirmary.  Peter's had a bad time of it lately.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BestApplePie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BestApplePie/gifts).



> Happy Magi!  
> 

Slowly, Peter regains consciousness. His body feels heavy, like a wet bag, his eyelids weighted down and gritty with sand. Like when he's completely bombed, and everything beyond the dark of his closed eyes swims and swirls; when it's easier to stay down than to move around. Probably it's a mistake to move his head, but he tries anyway, only there's cloth stuck to his face and forehead, a hat, maybe. Unexpectedly, someone touches his side, right under his ribs. They're struggling to roll him over, and not being gentle about it. Suffocate him? His thoughts are loose fragments in his fogged brain.

Kicking out, he connects with something soft, followed immediately by an exclamation of pain. Next he hears a woman's voice, lilting and sharp all at once, calling out for an orderly. She's speaking Spanish.

Peter took four years of Spanish in high school. He'd been pretty good at it, even if his dad thought it was worthless. All he'd been seeing lately was his dad's disappointed expression, his arms crossed, stare as piercing as ever. 

But, the school didn't offer Italian. That woulda been an easy A. Then again, he hadn't done much in high school that his dad approved of, but his nonna would always just put a hand down flat on the table and say, "Nino, mio figlio. Boys are still growing, that's why they are boys. Life is to be experienced. No more of this now; here, have more mushrooms."

Peter had eyes: he looked around and saw the wetbacks flooding the city. They procreated like bunnies. Practically his whole graduating class had last names like Rodriquez and Velasquez. Spanish was gonna be a good tool in his arsenal. 

Shit, he hadn't meant to take out a lady. Maybe she was helping him. He musta gotten jumped or something, if he's in the hospital. 

A pinprick on his arm. Like a fuckin' idiot, he'd let his thoughts wander, to his detriment, again. Now his upper body feels like it's been cast in cement. A similar heaviness settles on his legs, another voice joins the first, and there's someone nearby whimpering like a helpless bitch. If only Peter could move, he'd make them shut up. Weaklings cry. Losers and cowards. He has to, he has to make them be _quiet_ \--

He hears a deeper voice this time, soothing. "Aquí vamos. Recostarse. Bueno."

The cloth over Peter's face whisks away, then returns, wetted, and someone wipes at his eyes. The lady speaks again. "It's a reaction to the sedative, Peter, it's all right."

It's not as bright as he'd expected when he can finally see that he's in some kind of ward, a neighboring bed visible past the open hospital curtain. The moment he recognizes Dr. Nathan's voice and remembers that he's in Oz is a fast punch to the gut, bile roiling up through his stomach and throat, but when he opens his mouth to let it out there's nothing there.

Gloria's hovering over him, her eyes searching his – she's got one hand splayed out on her midsection, the corners of her mouth tight with pain – and she's still talking to Peter like she cares about his answer. "You with me now? Hear me? Schibetta, can you hear me."

Peter feels okay about calling Dr. Nathan by her first name, in his head. It helps him remember where she ranks for him: she's better to look at than pretty much anyone else at Oz, and she's got big, pretty eyes and she's smart. Plus O'Reily acts like she hung the fucking moon. So he treats her like a friend, ignoring their setting completely, and maybe she'll think of him one day when she's asked for a quick opinion on model prisoners. Peter's whole schtick is low-key, flying under the radar but being quietly intimidating. He's been polishing up that rep for years. 

Just, in Oz. He hasn't been able to back up his promises, yet. Probably he shouldn't have hammered that old nigger Glynn that hard, but he'd been riled up. Usually he knew when to stop but it'd been like Oz itself leaked into Peter's veins and clouded his judgment. 

If Gloria speaks again, Peter doesn't hear her. There's only one focus for him right now, and it's on a long drop down through a rush of memories. O'Reily, eyes smirking, face carved from stone and his voice, serious as a heart attack, talking about how Peter's dad had died. Adrenaline had licked the sweat from Peter's temples as he struggled to hold back the wave of fury washing over him, suffusing his very being. Strutting into the caf, feeling like he was gonna right a fucking wrong, and how quickly the tides turned against him. 

As the sedative wears off, Peter's whole body begins to throb, faintly. His entire body is a burning bruise pressed hot against the mattress, fire in places he'd never – no one had _ever_ – 

"I need someone to stay with him until the drugs wear off," Gloria says. After a short silence, there's the sound of metal chair legs scraping against the floor. "I'll be in my office. Don't close the curtain."

A murmur of affronted agreement, and Peter blinks, catching a glimpse of Miguel Alvarez sitting bedside, all hunched shoulders, his chin just touched to his chest. 

Blinking again, Peter tucks his head into the pillow. He settles in for a nice long stare.

"Fuck off," Alvarez says, not looking up.

Peter's caught for a long moment on the line of Alvarez's cheekbone. He should probably feel guilty because he'd hoped that Miguel knew how to use his pretty spic lips and big eyes to an advantage. Their advantage. Like maybe that was a way into the private thoughts of the fucking monster who killed Peter's dad. Get close, use information or even just outright murder him. He'd been completely stupid to think Alvarez would report back to him though, or that he'd agree to a partnership. The Latinos stayed neutral when they could, under Alvarez, but Peter's known for a while now that model isn't sustainable.

"Not guilty," Peter says, swallowing thickly around the guttural g.

"Whatever you say, man," Alvarez replies. He sounds distant. 

"You stay out of the fire, you won't get burned," Peter grinds out. The back of his head's starting to pulse, the early warning sign of an intensely painful migraine. "Concussion?"

Alvarez grunts. "Pretty sure."

"Is there any –" Peter lifts two fingers to his throat. "Water."

Alvarez rattles a paper cup at him, scooping out a piece of ice. He looks at it and then finally looks over at Peter. "Flat on your back and still demanding."

Peter's mouth feels tacky. "Yeah, well, I've had a bad day."

Alvarez's expression goes blank and he rips his gaze away. Concentrating, he cracks the sliver of ice in half on the metal armrest of his chair. "You could choke on a whole piece." 

He's slipping the chunk of ice past Peter's lips before Peter's figured out that's what's coming. The fleeting touch of Alvarez's wet fingertips on Peter's own slack lips and Peter thinks again how he's not guilty. He's practical. So what if Peter thought once or twice about Alvarez working his wiles for him, instead.

"Adebisi offered me the same deal," Alvarez says.

Tucking the melting ice into his cheek, Peter asks, stiffly, "The fuck?"

Alvarez meets Peter's gaze with a tiny smile. He swirls the ice around. "Whack you, like you wanted me to whack him."

Peter swallows tightly, his attention riveted on the cup in Alvarez's hand. 

Peter watches Alvarez select a second piece of ice from the cup, and pop it into his own mouth. He lets out a hard breath when Alvarez licks water from his lips. 

"Nah," Alvarez says, crunching on the ice. "Poison's not my style."

Peter's cheeks flare hot. Maybe he's a little guilty.

 

Peter jolts awake to the sound of a bedpan dropped on tile. Dr. Nathan – Gloria – is hurrying towards his bed, a syringe in her hand. The chair next to Peter's bed is empty, but there's a water ring on the metal arm. 

"How're you feeling?" Gloria asks, fiddling with Peter's IV stand. After injecting the drip, she turns to face Peter. "Sleeping okay?"

Peter makes a face. "Hurts."

"Yeah," Gloria says, flipping open a folder. "Yes. The notes mention that you've been fairly lucid. That's not where I want your pain levels to be."

Peter's shoulders unclench all of a sudden, a looseness suffusing his body. A noise like a sob winds its way out of Peter's chest. 

Gloria glances at her watch, then nods. "Count to one hundred in sevens."

Her instructions fall away into nothingness as Peter's brain tilts sideways. The flicker of Gloria's penlight shining in his eyes a moment later remind him of how the lights flashed overhead when he'd been taken on a trip through the bowels of Oz tied to a gurney.

He'd been so easily defeated. Beaten thoroughly, and swept aside.

That was okay though. He was just gonna sit here for a while anyway, get his thoughts together and steady, and he'd be fine. He would be totally fucking fine. Peter squints at his dad's look of disappointment one last time before closing his eyes and letting his mind drift.

There was a way to fix things, there was always a way, something sodden with passive aggression to regain the upper hand. And he'd figure it out. Quietly intimidating. That was his style.  


**Author's Note:**

> Wish #2, Request 1:  
> Pairing/Character(s): Peter Schibetta and Miguel Alvarez  
> Keyword/Prompt Phrase: Friendship  
> Canon/AU/Either: AU  
> Special Requests: Whether Alvarez takes Peter's offer or they become friends in psychward or wherever, i just want some friendship...  
> Story/Art/Either: Story  
> 


End file.
